Nora looked down at the recorder in her lap, watched the tape spin slowly through its little plastic window. She didn’t have the money to record in a booth with the foam on the walls like Dolly or Bowie, so she’d bought the tape deck to record herself singing in the bathroom where the acoustics were best. In recent years, she’d hardly ever used it. In fact, the only reason it was in the car with her was because she’d lent it to a friend the week before.

Nora considered what to say next—what, if anything, future her would need to know. “The feeling you are having right now will pass. It always does.”

A knock on the driver’s-side window startled her, and she turned to see Finn waving at her through the glass. “Are you recording a song?” her daughter asked as Nora opened the door.

“Uh, no. Not exactly.” Nora quickly changed the subject. “Hey, do you want to help me pitch the tent?”

“Okay!”

Nora tucked the recorder under her arm and set it on the picnic table before kneeling down next to the tent she’d already spread out on the sand.

“See that hole?” Nora pointed to a grommet on the tent floor closest to Finn’s feet. “Put the end of the pole in there and hold it steady while I attach the sides.”

Finn followed Nora’s instructions and held the pole upright while her mom clipped the nylon sides to it. As they worked, a shadow from the rocks above crept slowly toward them. They had arrived at the Constellation Campground just in time to see the Martian-red cliffs catch fire in the evening sun.

“I like this place,” Finn said as Nora snapped the last of the fabric in place. “I like the way it sounds.”

Nora froze and listened to the wind piping through the fluted rocks; a colony of quail chirping in a patch of prickly pear; the rustling of the cottonwood trees. “Cool, huh?”

Finn nodded.

“How about you, Zadie?” Nora called to her other daughter, who was seated at a picnic table reading a book. “What do you think of this place?”

Without lifting her eyes, she replied, “It’s all right.”

Nora sighed and turned back to her youngest. “I don’t think your sister likes camping.”

She had forgiven Zadie for her surliness. After all, Nora had dragged her out of bed at seven in the morning on a weekend with no warning. She would have been grumpy, too, if her own mother had done that to her.

And confused. Nora knew her behavior had been erratic. That morning, it had almost felt like a ghost had taken over her body. Thankfully, neither of her daughters seemed particularly distraught, and she wanted to keep it that way.